


If there's a light at the end (it's just the sun in your eyes)

by tomlinsoned



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Baker Harry, Boys In Love, Harry is a flirty baby and Louis can't resist !!!, Immortality, M/M, i'm a sucker for immortality !! sue me !, they're stupid at first but what's new, this is another translation of my own work oops ?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22128889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomlinsoned/pseuds/tomlinsoned
Summary: Louis has lived for too long and still wants too much, and Harry just likes baking him chocolate croissants and slowly driving him insane. This is their story.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	If there's a light at the end (it's just the sun in your eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> hi! I have exams in less than a week so obviously I went and translated another one of my own works like a complete loser!! this is inspired by the movie the age of adaline and the show forever but only if you squint. enjoy!

Louis meets Harry on his first day in Manchester. He hasn’t lived in Britain for decades – got caught up in Asia and just in general felt the need for something new, unexplored, fresh after spending almost a hundred years either in England or the US. But he came back – got on the first train from London and ended up in Manchester – and decided to stay. England has always been home, here he felt the most… human. Here, it felt like he could get lost in the crowd and just be normal, as much as possible.

He finds a small flat rented by an old lady – charms her with his knowledge of old English recipes and Russian poetry – and goes for a walk right after.

He stumbles upon a bakery with a couple of fresh scones and chocolate croissants in the window and decides to treat himself. The bell above the door jingles quietly, and Louis smiles, examines the cosy, quaint interior, lifts his head and locks eyes with a boy – bright green eyes and messy brown curls dusted with flour above his right ear, a dark blue apron on his neck and a soft grin on his light pink lips.

Louis exhales and gently smiles back, turning his gaze back to the pastries, but the boy doesn’t avert his eyes, follows his movements and squints a little – Louis sees him moving in his peripheral vision, feels his eyes on himself, but stays quiet.

“May I help you?” the boy asks lightly after a couple of seconds, his voice a bit rough, breaking on the last word, and Louis hears his nerves. His long life has taught him to read people, and this boy in front of him is an open book.

Louis lifts his gaze and tilts his head, examines the stranger’s cheekbones and his collarbones peeking out of his plaid shirt – everything about him is so _simple_ , and Louis knows that objectively he is a couple hundred years older, but even if you ignore his… _state_ , he understands the boy must be about ten years younger than Louis. His face still portrays some kind of childish innocence, his fingers intertwined in anxiety, his eyes big and _interested_. Louis simultaneously wants to sit him down in an armchair with a mug of hot chocolate and _break him_ in his own bed. He just shrugs and doesn’t look away.

The boy chuckles nervously and leans on the counter, getting closer to Louis and opening his collarbones up a bit more. He bites his lip, and Louis wants to grab him by his thin apron and _spank him_. 

“The bakery closes in ten minutes,” he murmurs, and Louis laughs.

“Kicking me out?”

“Inviting you to stay,” the boy retorts, and Louis hums.

“Only if you promise free pastries.”

“Deal.”

Louis sits at the table by the window and sips his Yorkshire tea, and after four cups he learns that the boy is named Harry, and he smells like candles, vanilla extract and wood. He goes to university and works part-time at the bakery to help his family. He loves cats and books in hard covers. He’s 17 and speaks really slowly.

As night falls, Louis wants to make Harry laugh more often, and Harry pats his shoulder goodbye, and they text all the way home.

***

Louis doesn’t expect anything to come out of such a hectic encounter, but he doesn’t even notice how after a couple of short weeks there’s already his own seat at the bakery, his own mug, his own chocolate croissants that Harry bakes every day even when they’re not on the menu.

Harry is funny and weird, he likes stupid jokes and can’t walk a straight line, and he doesn’t really have any friends, and he looks at Louis like there’s not a year of age difference between them.

Harry feeds him hot cookies from his hands and calls him ‘bro’ and ‘mate’, he smiles brightly every time Louis enters the bakery and never asks him to come again if Louis doesn’t ask first.

Louis knows that Harry is young and charming, that he doesn’t have much experience and he flirts even with the elderly owner of the shop he works at, and that he has a naturally wide smile and twinkling eyes, and that Louis is too old – in every aspect – to stare at him, look intensely at hips, his lips, his hands, and that getting attached is pointless, and that it will only get worse, and that every evening he lies in his bed alone and imagines thin light skin and meaningless tattoos underneath his fingers.

He knows that Harry has gotten attached to him, too, that it will hurt them both, but all these years haven’t taught him patience, haven’t taught him to say no to his desires, and Harry is the sweetest, most unholy of them all, which is why he stays in the city and comes to the bakery, sits in his seat and drinks from his mug, eats the croissants and helps Harry with his thesis.

And when Harry falls asleep on his laptop, Louis gives him a couple minutes of rest, then kisses his forehead and walks him home.

***

Louis knows Harry for a few months when the boy tells him he is going out with a guy from uni.

Louis lifts his head sharply, squeezing his hot green mug between his hands, and feels his jaw tremble from the tension of keeping everything he is thinking inside.

“Really?” he croaks out dumbly and takes a sip of his tea, moving closer to the table. 

“Yeah, um, he-,” Harry fixes his long hair and coughs into his fist before looking back at the wooden table in front of him. “He asked me out last week? His name is Eric, he’s really cute.”

Harry smiles and shrugs, looking at Louis from under his thick lashes, and Louis automatically smiles back, nodding.

“That’s great, Haz,” he mumbles, swallows and nods again. His chest feels tight, and he knows his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and that Harry will notice, so he lowers his gaze to his mug. “I’m happy for you.”

Harry doesn’t notice anything – or decides not to comment – and whines to Louis that he doesn’t have anything to wear, and Louis wants to keep him for himself, lock him in his small flat so that he can bake sweets in his empty kitchen, read books on his cold balcony and get tangled in the sheets on his huge bed, but all he can do is help him.

“Wear that light grey shirt with the ornament,” he interrupts the boy, and he meets his eyes sharply. “Don’t close the top three buttons. He won’t stand a chance.”

Louis smiles lightly, unable to tear his eyes away from the full trust seen on the face in front of him.

“Thanks, Lou,” Harry whispers, and they stare at each other for a couple of moments before Harry jumps up from his seat and gathers their mugs, starting to close for the day. Louis just lifts the corners of his mouth and lets himself take a deep breath, then gets up, take his jacket off the back of the chair and silently walks out of the bakery, leaving behind the faint sound of the bell.

Later that night Louis texts Harry asking about the date. The boy doesn’t answer, so Louis thinks everything must be going well, puts his phone away and cuddles into his blanket, falling asleep on his living room couch.

***

Harry and Eric break up three weeks later, but Louis thinks Eric actually lasted quite long, considering that Harry hasn’t stopped spending all his free time at the bakery with Louis. At first Eric tried hanging around as well, and then Louis stopped coming to give them a chance to be alone, but Harry showed up on his doorstep, thumped him on the shoulder with his fist and pouted like a child, so Louis didn’t have a choice but to come back. Eric frowned for the following three days and didn’t show up on the fourth. 

When Harry tells Louis about the break-up, they’re sitting on a bench outside, it’s Harry’s lunch break, and he’s eating his turkey sandwich and feeding the crust to the birds.

“I broke up with Eric,” he says suddenly and takes another bite like he just commented on the weather or something.

Louis chokes on his coffee and coughs a little, wiping his mouth with the back of his palm.

“Sorry?”

“Well, he broke up with me, but… semantics,” he shrugs, taking the paper cup from Louis’s frozen hands and taking a sip, even though his own drink is left on the bench between them.

“I’m-,” Louis frowns and turns his body to Harry, “I’m sorry?”

“I’m not,” the boy shrugs again.

Louis wait for him to elaborate, but Harry doesn’t seem to be willing to explain, so Louis looks at him for another minute, then drops the subject and returns to his own lunch.

The sun is breaking through the green leaves of the trees above their heads and illuminating Harry’s light skin, making his lashes cast long shadows on his cheeks, sharpening his cheekbones and softening his lips.

Louis can’t help it – keeps shooting him short glances – the same way he can’t calm the butterflies in his stomach. 

His heart is screaming _kiss_ , but his mind argues _run_.

***

Louis knows Harry for almost a year when everything changes.

Harry doesn’t try to build any relationships or even go on more than one date with the same boy after Eric, and Louis is thinking about setting him up with that regular customer who always comes in on weekdays after lunch, gets an espresso and a raspberry danish and makes eyes at Harry the whole time he sits at his table and eats his pastry painstakingly slow, but Harry just laughs when Louis offers to introduce them officially, and pours him more tea.

Louis wants to tangle his hand in his newly-cut hair and kiss his eyelids, rip his thin white t-shirt and bite his hipbones, make him gasp with pleasure and scream his name.

Louis wants to crush every butterfly in his stomach, squeeze his own heart and make himself forget, wipe the memories of the boy from his mind, leave and never turn back.

Louis wantswantswants, but all he can do is drink the same tea from the same mug and look at the biggest dream of his uselessly long existence.

Which is why, when one evening he comes home from the bakery (Harry closed up the store and turned to Louis, raising his gaze underneath the dim light of the street lamp and completely knocking the air out of the man, lifted the corners of his mouth in an innocent, sweet smile, whispered “Goodnight, Lou,” and disappeared behind the corner, leaving Louis watching him helplessly and _dreamingdreamingdreaming_ ),and sees the end of the month rent notice on his door, he packs his things, leaves the key on the table and shuts the door on his way out, gets into the first cab and leaves.

This has already gone too far.

***

When Louis hears the bell above the door again, it’s been almost two months, his heart has broken into pieces and hasn’t glued itself back together, the butterflies in his stomach have turned into monsters, trying to claw his insides out, and Harry has started wearing scarfs in his hair. _Interesting_.

Louis steps over the threshold quietly, keeping the door open, and meets green eyes that instantly become cold and closed off, and for the first time ever Louis can’t read Harry, can’t understand what he’s feeling.

They stay like that for a couple of seconds, and Louis expects Harry to either invite him in or maybe kick him out and not allow him to come back. The moment feels loaded, almost tangible, and Louis wants to break the awkwardness and get back to how they were before, but he knows that after several hundred years it’s high time he learned to suppress his desires before he ruins everything. _Again_.

But Harry stays silent. He looks at Louis with cold, tired eyes, blinks slowly and swallows thickly, messing with the towel he was using to wipe down the counter currently in his hands. Louis takes a step forward, the door shutting behind him at the same time as he whispers “Harry,” and the boy shrugs off his stupor, turns his back to the man and lowers his head, still not saying a word.

“Harry?” Louis tries again, but the boy just flinches, almost dodging his voice. Louis bites his lip and frowns. “I’m sorry for leaving without warning, and for not answering your texts or picking up the phone, I just... went away for work and got so busy that I completely forgot, and-“

“Don’t,” Harry interrupts blankly and turns back to him, his eyes sad, and Louis thinks he actually preferred them cold like before. “You don’t need to explain, Lou..is”.

Louis frowns again and takes another step forward, but Harry steps back and shakes his head a little, going back to his towel.

“I shouldn’t have left,” Louis tries, but Harry doesn’t react, and coming back doesn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.

Somehow what’s happening now seems to hurt even more than complete absence of Harry in his life. 

“It was a mistake,” Louis continues, watching the boy’s careful and calculated movements closely. “I’ve missed you, Haz.”

Harry freezes.

“Why did you come back?” he asks quietly, and Louis doesn’t have time to decipher whether or not Harry’s happy to see him, when the boy continues, admits, “Your flat has a new tenant now. I… went there recently.”

Louis circles the counter and stops a couple of steps away from him, looks him over and repeats, ignoring his statement, “I’ve missed you.”

The butterflies in his stomach don’t want to settle, torturing him from the inside, making him move and speak against his mind’s will. Harry frowns and leaves the towel on the marble countertop, swallows.

“I’ve missed you, too,” he admits and turns to Louis, his face so tense and focused that Louis doesn’t really know what to expect next, when Harry steps closer, puts his hand on Louis’s shoulder and kisses his mouth.

His lips are cold and chapped, and the kiss only lasts a couple of seconds, but Louis’s heart slows and calms down, the noise in his head subsides.

“Harry,” Louis whispers into his lips, and his arm is already tight around his waist, and he needs to let go, take a step back and put a stop to all this, but Harry is warm and soft under his touch, leaning into Louis despite their height difference. “You’re still so young.”

Harry shakes his head so hard his scarf slides down his ear, and Louis fixes the fabric instinctively, tucks his hair behind his ear and strokes his cheek with his thumb.

“I’m 18,” Harry mumbles, and Louis frowns for a second, then does the calculations in his head and breathes out loudly.

“Shit,” he whispers, traces the curve of his light pink lips with his fingers, mouth mere centimetres away from his, “I missed your birthday.”

“You can make it up to me right now,” Harry exhales and grins, little devil.

Louis looks at him for a moment – gaze examining the boy’s face, half-open eyes and wet lips – and reduces the distance between them, breathes out their shared air right into his lips and kisses again, bites his bottom lip and licks it immediately after, slides his palms underneath his shirt and strokes his sides, and Harry melts in his arms, almost flows from one touch to another, desperately grabs his jacket and his hair and moans softly, like he can’t hold it in.

They kiss, ignoring the world around them, until the bell above the door jingles to announce new customers walk in. Harry breaks away and smiles, lips red and wet, eyes glazed and dark, gentle blush on his cheeks and neck, and he looks _broken_ from one innocent kiss. 

Louis wants to see all of him, wants his whole body to be covered in sweat, wants his blush to spread right down to his ribs, wants his long fingers to squeeze the sheets, wants his hair to be in complete disarray on the pillow.

Louis is sure that if he does die after all, he is going to hell.

***

Not much changes. They still spend all their free time together – like Louis didn’t run away for two months and Harry wasn’t mad – but now they are almost always touching, and Harry’s lips are almost always wet and bitten from kisses.

Harry loves kissing. He loves putting his legs in Louis’s lap, hugging him around the waist, tucking his cold nose into his neck. He loves talking about stars and asking Louis to read in foreign languages, making them hot chocolate and lighting candles around the house. 

Louis melts in his warmth, absorbs every particle, trying to memorize every second of their shared time, learn his small habits, the moles on his palms, the freckles on his cheeks and the tattoos on his shoulders. Trying not to count down the days until their inevitable end.

“Lou?” Harry whispers right above his ear, nervously messing with a corner of the blanket he covered them with.

“Hm?” Louis responds and turns to the boy, hugging the legs in his lap with his arms.

“Do you wanna be my boyfriend?” Harry murmurs, and Louis freezes, sinking his fingers into the hips underneath his hands. The boy lifts his eyes and watches him carefully, closely, and Louis swallows anxiously.

“Baby,” Louis starts, and Harry moves to see his face better. “Why do you need and old man like me?”

He doesn’t intend to say it, but the words involuntarily leave his mouth. He frowns immediately and lowers his gaze, huffing and trying to turn all of this into a joke. Harry makes an affronted sound and lifts Louis’s face with a soft finger, making him look into his eyes.

“Because you’re handsome,” he whispers, leaving a short kiss on his left cheekbone, “sexy,” kiss on the cheek, “kind,” kiss on the nose, “interesting,” he lifts his body and throws his leg over Louis’s knees, settling on his lap, “and not at all old.”

Harry smiles so sweetly and intimately that Louis wants to destroy him in bed and spend the rest of his life with him. _All of it_.

He can’t resist this boy at all. 

“Okay,” he whispers and kisses his lips, sliding his warm hands under his hoodie.

“Okay?” the boy asks, throwing his head back and enjoying the touches.

“I would be honoured to be your boyfriend, baby,” Louis laughs, but Harry’s face lights up like a Christmas tree, and Louis just shakes his head and pulls him into another kiss.

Harry replies with enthusiasm, tangling his fingers in his hair and pulling, then letting go and tugging Louis’s t-shirt off. Louis looks at him cautiously, almost scared to break him, but he just goes lower, unzips the man’s jeans and tries to tug them off without getting off his knees.

Louis chuckles again and catches the boy’s wrists in his hands, pulls him to his chest and looks into his face.

“Are you sure?”

“More than sure,” Harry nods vigorously and frees his hands, immediately taking off his top. “I’ve wanted you since we first met.”

Louis exhales sharply and strokes the now naked young body, squeezes and tugs closer, bites his neck and licks the marks.

“Yeah?” he whispers into a wet spot on Harry’s skin, and the boy shivers with his whole body, then melts in Louis’s arms again, kissing his chin.

“Mhm, almost ate you with my eyes when you first entered the store, don’t you remember?” he mumbles, pushing off his jeans. “Have been working in a bakery for two years now, but you’re the sweetest dessert I’ve ever tasted.”

“Can’t believe you just said that.”

Harry laughs, slips down to the floor, taking Louis’s jeans with him, and settles on his knees between the man’s legs. He lifts his gaze, eyes still as big and sparkling, but now dark from excitement and arousal, licks his lips and grips Louis’s dick in his palm.

Louis thinks he is _definitely_ going to hell.

When they’re lying on Louis’s bed, naked, sated and tired, Harry is trailing vague shapes on Louis’s stomach, and his hair tickles the man’s neck, but he just kisses the boy on the forehead and strokes his shoulder with his palm.

“You know, Lou,” Harry starts without lifting his head, but Louis feels him tense a little, though he sees a smile on his face, “you’re my boyfriend, but I know virtually nothing about you.”

Now it’s Louis’s turn to tense, moving back and leaning on the headrest. He waits, gives Harry time to explain, and the boy stays quiet at first, but then continues, “I don’t know when your birthday is, or who your parents are, or even where you work…”

“Harry…”

“No, I get it, not all people are as chatty as me,” he lifts the corners of his lips and shrugs like there’s nothing he can do about that flaw, “and-“

“I don’t think it’s a bad thing,” Louis interrupts and tangles his fingers in Harry’s hair just to have a distraction. Harry just smiles softly, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, so Louis goes on, stumbling over words, “I just… I’ve been through a lot, and it’s hard for me to… open up. To people.”

He bites his bottom lip and waits while Harry stays silent. The boy lifts up on his elbows and looks into Louis’s eyes, examines his face with a sad smile on his lips and answers, “I know you probably see me as this little, stupid boy with no experience, but I just-“

“No, Haz, don’t even-,” Louis shakes his head and frowns, petting his soft cheek with his palm, “you’re not little or stupid, and I will never use our age difference against you,” he says firmly, not breaking eye contact, “deal?”

Harry nods and smiles, leaning into the warm touch, but his face still isn’t happy, not as happy as Louis wants to see it, so his takes a deep breath and continues, “My birthday is on December 24th, my parents are Jay and Dan, but they’ve been gone for a long time-“

“Oh, Louis, I’m so-“

“I don’t have any siblings,” he swallows and smiles, trying to brighten the atmosphere, “and I’m a writer.”

Harry’s eyes light up, and he scoots closer. “A writer! What do you write?”

Louis chuckles and hugs him close, happy to see his boy smiling sincerely again. “Here and there,” he shrugs, “right now it’s science fiction.”

“I love science fiction!”

“I know,” Louis comments, and Harry smiles even wider.

“Will you let me read some of it?”

“Maybe one day, darling,” he strokes his back and kisses his temple, smiling, “maybe one day.”

“I’m sorry, Lou,” the boy whispers, tucking his nose into the man’s neck, “about your parents.”

Louis just nods and doesn’t reply. It’s been a while, and the memory of them is no longer as bright and clear as it was before. It’s easier. It’s alright.

***

It lasts for two months before it inevitably goes to shit.

They’re sitting at the kitchen counter at Louis’s flat. Louis is reading news on his phone, but Harry has already put down his book, just staring at him and smiling, examining his face and his bare shoulders, occasionally sipping his orange juice.

Louis smiles, too, when he feels Harry get up and come closer, wind his arm around his waist and kiss the skin where his neck meets his shoulder. Louis shivers from the cold touch, but melts immediately into the boy’s embrace, puts his phone down and throws his head back.

The butterflies in his stomach don’t calm down even now, when Louis _can_ do anything he wants – can kiss him and wrap him in blankets, explore every inch of his skin and hold him in his lap, leave marks on his neck and whisper nonsense in his ear.

He wants more.

Wants to fall asleep with him every night and wake up next to him every morning, travel the world and get into trouble together, wants to spend _eternity_ with him, but their definition of eternity is too different for them to be able to share one.

Louis knows that the longer he stays with him, the more it will hurt to leave, but he can’t make himself let go.

Harry’s grip on his heart is too strong.

“Lou?” Harry distracts him from his thoughts, leaving a kiss on his cheek and turning so that they’re face to face.

Louis smiles and takes his hand, intertwines their fingers just because he wants to, because he can.

“Lou, I wanted to tell you that I…” Harry smiles nervously, biting his lip and shrugging his shoulder the same way he does every time he’s anxious. Louis immediately knows what he wants to say. Louis knows in that moment that all of this has gone too far. His chest feels tight, and he cannot for the life of him draw a breath. He needs to stop this, but Harry continues, “Lou, I lo-“

“No,” Louis interrupts sharply, flinching back and putting his hand in front of him, like he’s shielding himself from the boy’s words, like it’ll stop him from hearing them. “No, Harry, you…” Harry looks at him with confusion in his eyes, and Louis doesn’t know what to do, because even hundreds of years of existence haven’t prepared him for this gaze. He smirks and tries to turn it into a joke, “Aren’t you too young for such declarations?”

Harry flinches back this time, letting go of his hand, and now his eyes, his whole face, scream pain and betrayal, like Louis just hit him. Louis wants to hit _himself_ for saying that. 

“Haz…” he tries, but Harry shakes his head and keeps frowning.

“You promised not to use our age difference against me. You promised that…” he exhales, his nostrils flaring, eyes glistening, and Louis knows that if the boy starts crying, he’ll never forgive himself.

“That’s not what I meant, Harry, I-“

“What then, Lou? Why did you stop me? Me not saying it doesn’t mean I don’t feel it!” he swallows and shakes his head again, like he’s disappointed in Louis. He should be. “Why did you stop me?”

Louis keeps quiet, just looks at him with pleading eyes, hoping that Harry will drop it, that they’ll just pretend none of this even happened, that Harry will trust him again, but the boy breathes out loudly and turns around, heading to the living room.

“God, what are you so afraid of?” he exclaims, and it must be a rhetorical question, because Louis doesn’t have a decent answer anyway. He follows Harry, watches him collect his things, put on his cardigan and shove his feet in his beat-up sneakers.

“Harry…” Louis doesn’t seem to be able to utter anything other than his name, but the boy just shakes his head and opens the door.

“I just need to… not see you right now, Lou. Call me when you figure yourself out.”

He closes the door softly, and Louis is left alone again. Just like that, no loud arguing or screaming, no slamming doors or smashing plates.

Just a boy who at that moment seems to be older and wiser than Louis.

The boy Louis is in love with.

***

Louis survives three days, then breaks and at ten in the evening rushes out of the flat in sweatpants and vans, finding himself half an hour later on a familiar porch with a bouquet of slightly wilted flowers. 

When Harry opens his door, he’s wearing an apron, a towel hanging on his shoulder. His flat smells like food and baking, his counters covered in trays of cooling sweets.

Harry exhales sharply when he sees Louis, but he doesn’t slam the door in his face, so Louis considers it a success. He holds out the flowers and with an apologetic smile whispers, “We need to talk”.

Harry frowns and bites his bottom lip, but lets him inside and invites him to sit. 

The flowers stay forgotten on the kitchen table when Louis rubs his hands together and takes a deep breath, trying to find the right words.

“Harry, I need to tell you something,” he starts, and Harry’s face is impassive, so Louis lowers his gaze and looks at his hands. “Please, don’t react right away, let me explain first. You are probably not going to believe me, but-“

“Wait, what?” Harrys asks, confused, and Louis meets his eyes and sees fear.

“What?” Louis repeats dumbly and doesn’t understand either.

“I thought…” Harry swallows and continues, voice quieter, “I thought you wanted to break up with me.”

“What? No, Harry, I…” Louis moves closer and looks at his face. “Do you want to break up with me?”

“No, Lou, you know that I-“

“You might change your mind,” Louis interrupts him, smiling sadly, “after you hear what I’ve got to say.”

Harry shakes his head softly, like it’s impossible, but stays quiet and listens.

“Harry, the thing is that I… I don’t age.”

Harry blinks slowly, then frowns in confusion, “I mean… I mean, yeah, you look pretty young for 25, but I…”

“Harry, no, I literally don’t age. I was born at the end of the seventeenth century.”

Harry stays silent and looks at him, not blinking, almost waiting for Louis to laugh, to tell him it’s all a joke. When it doesn’t happen, he laughs himself, but his face still doesn’t clear, “Good joke, Lou, I honestly thought…”

“It’s not a joke, Haz, I… I have proof?”

Louis pulls a pile of pictures that he grabbed right before leaving the flat out of the pocket of his hoodie. All photos show him, but in very different times and places. Harry takes the pictures with a shaking hand and slowly starts thumbing through them, frowning when he recognises his favourite 19th century novelist on one of the cards. 

He goes through the photos twice before lowering them onto his lap and lifting his gaze full of confusion and fear to Louis, and Louis wants to hug him and never let go. “Haz, I understand that this is impossible to believe, but it’s true, and I-“

“So, you are immortal?”

Louis looks at him, expecting the boy to laugh at him, but he is just waiting for the reply with unwavering interest and Louis… just… _what?_

“I’m… not sure? In all this time I’ve never died, so I’m not sure how it works, but… Until someone tries to kill me, yeah, I guess I’m immortal,” he replies, and even to his own ears it sounds so dumb and awkward, but Harry just nods and holds the photos out to him.

He sits still for some time, staring at the couch cushion and staying quiet, and Louis waits for his verdict, not breathing.

“You could’ve told me sooner,” Harry whispers, and although Louis doesn’t agree, he still nods and opens his mouth to apologize, but Harry doesn’t give him the chance, “Why are you so afraid of… all this?” he gestures between them, and Louis shrugs, lowering his eyes.

“I love you, Louis,” he says softly, and Louis thinks he must’ve heard wrong.

“Harry, I… One day you’ll be older than me, and while you will be growing up, I’ll always stay like this, and it’ll get weird, and…” he swallows thickly and continues in a whisper, “We don’t have a future, Haz.”

Harry just shakes his head, moves closer, puts a warm palm on his shoulder and squeezes, “We have a present, don’t we? I want you _now_. I want us. Who knows what’ll happen in the future? I don’t want to let you go _now_.”

Louis exhales and looks at him, sees hope in the curve of his lips and adoration in the sparkle of his eyes and understands that he never stood a chance against this boy.

“I love you, too,” he murmurs and for some reason wants to cry.

“Really?” Harry laughs, and the expression on his face is so happy, that Louis just nods and pulls him closer, hugs him to his chest and inhales his scent.

***

They’re lying on Harry’s small bed in his cosy flat when the boy brings it up again for the first time, “Lou? How old are you, really?”

Louis chuckles, keeps tracing shapes under Harry’s shirt, kisses his nose before answering. “I can’t say for certain when my… aging stopped,” he admits, biting Harry’s chin and making him giggle, “But I’m around 28 years old.”

Harry makes a displeased noise, and Louis guesses that’s not what he wanted to hear. “Well, objectively, this year I’m turning 330,” he whispers, still worried he’ll scare off the boy beneath him. 

Harry just hums and lifts his eyes, smiling, “Nice round number.”

Louis laughs and tucks his nose into Harry’s neck, leaves a wet kiss there and relaxes in the boy’s arms.

***

Harry moves in with Louis half a year later when Louis has his own house on the outskirts of Manchester, and Harry knows that he writes science fiction under another pen name. 

Harry works in the same bakery and one evening he brings home a ginger kitten he found in the alley behind the store. They name her Tessa, and Louis frowns at her for the longest time, but then she falls asleep on his chest once, and they’re best friends. 

Harry brings him home to meet his parents, and they accept him as their own, and Louis cries that night in Harry’s childhood bedroom, because the boy gave him a family, and a home, and Louis has really missed being hugged by a mom.

Harry is twenty-three when he graduates from university, and Louis proposes. They get married in an Italian castle, and Harry teases Louis relentlessly about the fact that in his three hundred years of life he has saved up so much money that he doesn’t even know what to do with half of it. 

Harry is twenty-five when he starts asking Louis for a baby. He leaves the TV on, playing children’s channels, he ‘forgets’ to close his magazines with nursery designs, he puts a small butterfly plushie on Louis’s nightstand, and Louis eventually gives up and agrees.

They decide to adopt a three-month-old baby girl with bright green eyes because she instantly reached out to Harry, and Louis said she had his eyes. The process is infinitely long, but they decorate the nursery in yellow and white and patiently wait.

Louis is coming back from the publisher one night, having just received a call from their adoption agency with good news about their daughter, and he can’t wait to tell Harry. The boy will be over the moon, and Louis can already imagine his deep dimples and the blush on his cheeks, the sparkle in his eyes and the widest smile. Louis smiles to himself and starts texting Harry while crossing an empty road. 

A dark jeep comes speeding from around the corner, and Louis barely has time to turn his head, when he gets blinded by headlights, feels the hit of the hood, a moment of flying and another hit, this time on the road.

He’s lying, unable to move, his vision getting cloudy, and thinks ironically that he can finally test the limits of his immortality. 

***

He wakes up on a river bank. Stones are digging into his stomach and arms, and he leans up on his elbows to look around. He knows where he is – this is Irwell, they strolled along the river with Harry not that long ago, when it was still warm enough for evening walks.

The thought makes him shiver, and he realizes suddenly that he’s completely naked and wet in the middle of November. He gets up on his knees and looks over his body – notices a small scar on his stomach that wasn’t there before, but can’t see anything else in the dark, and his ears are ringing, but he’s _alive_ , so he decides to get out of the water. He’s not too far from their house, but he’s also naked, so he hides in the nearest alley and finds a dirty blanket in the dumpster. 

The light is on in their house, and he rings the bell, shaking from the cold. When Harry opens it, his hair is in complete disarray, sticking out in every direction, his eyes are red and puffy, and his lips are bitten red. They look at each other for a moment, before Harry lunges at him, hugging and pulling closer, not paying any attention to the dirty, smelly blanket.

“You’re alive,” he whimpers, and Louis can tell by his rough voice that he’s been crying for a while. “You’re alive, you came back, you’re alive,” he repeats, trying to squeeze Louis in his arms even tighter, grabs at the thin fabric and cries even harder. 

Louis relaxes in his arms and just nods, inhales his homey scent and tries to take at least some of his heat.

“What happened?” Harry whispers brokenly, pulling away and leading Louis to the bathroom.

“I’m not sure,” Louis admits, settling into the tub gratefully, even though there’s almost no water in it still. “I got hit by a car,” he continues, and Harry’s breath hitches, he sniffles and squeezes Louis’s palm in his, “I think I died…”

Harry lowers his head like he’s fighting his emotions, and circles his husband’s wrist with his other hand, trying to prove to himself that Louis is here and okay.

“I woke up on a riverbank not far away from here. Completely naked, but alive. Found something to cover myself up and came here.”

Harry cries again, crushing his hand, and nods, shows him he’s listening.

The bath has filled up with warm water enough to completely envelop Louis, and he relaxes, exhaling deeply. He lifts his free hand and slides his fingers into Harry’s messed up locks, untangles them and massages his scalp, getting him to relax as well.

“Hey, Haz, I’m alive,” he whispers, moving closer to the boy. “I’m sorry for scaring you, but I’m okay. I guess, I’m immortal, after all,” he smiles sadly and kisses the top of his head.

“Don’t you dare do anything like this ever again,” Harry whimpers and lifts his teary eyes to look at Louis, “I couldn’t reach you for hours, and I thought… I don’t care if you’re immortal or not, I will not be able to handle something like this ever again. Don’t you dare, do you hear me, I…”

He squeezes his hand even tighter and leans forward, kissing Louis slowly. It feels like they explore each other all over again, memorizing the feeling of lips on lips, not pulling away until they absolutely have to.

“Hey, Haz?” Louis calls quietly, and Harry opens his eyes, still mere inches from his face. Louis whispers, “We can bring our daughter home tomorrow.”

Harry’s face brightens with his smile, wide and full of hope. He sniffles, _“really?”_ and starts crying again, laughing at the same time and covering Louis’s hand in wet kisses.

They sit like that until the water in the tub cools down, then Harry carries Louis to their bedroom in his arms, opens him up with three fingers and pushes him into the bed while whispering sweet nothings in his ear and leaving wet marks on his skin.

***

Harry’s twenty-eight, and he’s carefully braiding Charlotte’s hair while Louis is closing the top buttons on his white shirt, standing in front of the mirror in their bedroom. His hair is artfully styled, his face clean shaven, and he looks himself over critically before shrugging on a dark blazer. 

“Lou, we’re late!” Harry calls from the living room, and right after that Louis hears a high squeal, small feet stomping on the floor and his daughter and husband laughing gleefully, their giggles merging into one sweet sound. Louis smiles, fixing his cuffs, and looks in the mirror one last time, examining himself. He lifts his gaze to his face and freezes.

He smiles again and then instantly stops, leans in closer and runs his fingers along the corner of his lips where a small crease is left right after his smile. 

He’s lived with this face for over three hundred years, he knows every wrinkle, every scar and every crease, and yet…

He frowns and leans back, deciding to think about this later, after the celebration, but his eyes catch on something else in his reflection, and Louis lifts his hand uncertainly, sliding his hand right above his ear where in his brown locks he notices a glint of grey. Could it be…

Louis looks at himself again and feels like he sees himself for the first time in the last three hundred years.

Harry peers into the room, his unusually short hair styled slightly to the side. He looks so grown up and serious in his suit, white shirt, polished boots, but on the pocket of his jacket there’s a small clip in the form of a bright orange butterfly that was undoubtely left there by their restless daughter, and even after all this time he’s still the same boy.

“Everything alright?” he asks softly, looking Louis over from head to toe and smiling gently.

Louis steps closer and kisses his lips, “Everything is perfect.”


End file.
